


Better I Should Know

by chemm80



Series: The Heavenly Host Are Among Us [2]
Category: Saving Grace (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-12
Updated: 2009-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> It’s too neat for a wild animal and too messy for anybody Grace would still consider human.  Gotta be some kind of monster.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better I Should Know

It’s 6 p.m. and Grace is pissed. She finally slams her desk drawer shut and stalks out the office door, cigarette and lighter already in her hand. This case is getting to her a lot earlier than they usually do, the way it’s not only going nowhere but doesn’t even make a damned bit of sense to start with. Blood evidence splattered everywhere, body ripped open and none of the neighbors saw a goddamned thing. The ones that will even talk about it at all keep going on about dogs howling, like they think they’re in the middle of a cheesy horror movie or something.

Bloody homicide like that, organs missing—it does sound kind of like a cult killing, but the rest of it doesn’t fit. No freaky symbols drawn around the bodies in blood or spray paint or whatever, and it’s not like a vanilla little neighborhood like that one is likely to just spawn a Charles Manson out of nowhere. It’s too neat for a wild animal and too messy for anybody Grace would still consider a fellow human being. Gotta be some kind of monster.

She’s worked up a real head of steam over it by the time she gets to the end of the hall and she nearly runs Rhetta down.

“Grace! I’m glad I caught you. I’ve got something on…”

“Please tell me the missing heart showed up in somebody’s mailbox,” Grace interrupts.

Rhetta pauses long enough to give Grace an annoyed look, then continues.

“No, the John Doe from this morning.”

“Find a connection with the other murder?”

“Other than the bodies being found two blocks from each other…no,” Rhetta says, holding up a restraining finger before Grace can say something else. “…but get this—John Doe was shot twice with a .45.”

“Oh, he was shot! I’ll alert the media,” Grace says sarcastically, but the image of a slick pearl-handled .45 pistol flashes across her mind.

Rhetta folds her arms, assumes her I’ve-had-enough-of-your-shit-Grace expression and waits.

Grace laughs.

“All right, I’m sorry. It’s just been a shitty day. I’m done. What’s up?”

And it must be something really interesting, because Rhetta doesn’t even make Grace pay for the crap she was dishing out, just goes back to being her geeky self. She leans forward and starts talking animatedly.

“One slug was recovered at the scene and one removed from the heart at autopsy, and they’re…well, they’re _weird_ , Grace.”

“Weird how?”

“Ballistics says some unusual alloy, hand-cast probably, and they don’t have a complete analysis yet, but it’s mostly silver.”

Grace takes a few seconds to let that soak in.

“Silver bullets. John Doe was killed by a silver bullet to the heart?”

“Two, actually. The first one passed all the way through.”

“Well, I’m guessing that one did the job, then. Talk about overkill. What the hell?”

“That’s what I said,” Rhetta says.

**

Grace chews on it the whole drive home. Something’s been bugging her all day. Well, a lot of things are bothering her about this, actually, but there’s one issue that nags harder than the others. It’s a particularly annoying little factoid related to the case, and it stands about six feet tall, has green eyes and dark blonde hair. He was casing the crime scene yesterday morning and Grace spent yesterday afternoon in his bed.

Grace pulls up to her house and goes inside, pats Gus and lets him out, still stewing. There’s clearly something not right about the guy. Dean might actually be his real first name, but Grace will go streaking through the squad room singing “Texas Fight” if his last name turns out to be Smith, or Hagar for that matter. He’s her only lead, or maybe he’s just a loose end, but he’s all she’s got right now and he’s by God going to answer her questions this time.

She feeds Gus and heads back out to the car. In five minutes she’s flying up the I-40 on-ramp.

The Last Chance Motel is the last place she saw Dean and she pulls up into the parking lot to find the rundown fleabag looking pretty much as it did yesterday, except the Impala isn’t there. The desk clerk says he hasn’t checked out. Grace figures there are only so many places you can go when you’re staying in an infested shithole like this one and restaurants and bars top the list, so she cruises the general area. The Impala turns up in the parking lot of the second bar she checks.

Grace goes in and waits for her eyes to adjust. It’s not very big or very busy and she can see them at the pool tables in the back almost as soon as she steps inside, Dean and the guy she saw driving the car yesterday. She makes her way through the tables to the back and finds a spot where she can watch without being too conspicuous.

Having taken Dean’s measure yesterday—and yes, she does crack herself up, thank you very much—she can see that his partner really is big, standing a few inches taller than Dean. Tall, Dark and Handsome grins delightedly over a tough shot, like he’s oh-so-shocked he made it. It’s obvious to Grace that’s it’s a scam, but they’re putting on a pretty good show and the half-drunk group of roughnecks and rednecks they’re working is eating it up.

Personally, Grace thinks it was completely worth the trip over here just to see the big guy’s deep-set dimples on either side of that sweet, wide grin, even if it is fake. _Holy fuck, what a pair these guys are._ Dean’s leaning against the wall now, watching the game and putting on a show of surprise at his partner’s “beginner’s luck,” but Grace picks out a couple of tells in the first ten minutes, like the little twitch at the corner of Dean’s mouth and the communicating looks the two of them exchange.

Eventually the two of them end the game with a practiced finesse Grace admires—nice take without starting a fight—and the marks wander off to lick their wounds. Dean and his partner start playing against each other, nothing too fancy so they don’t attract any angry, sore-loser attention. Grace sidles into their space and Dean speaks without looking up from where he’s leaned over the pool table.

“Detective Hanadarko…enjoy the show?” Dean says, still lining up his shot.

Grace grins and gives a sideways, so-so nod. “Not bad, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at her before he slides his cue back and shoots, nailing a tricky two-rail reverse shot.

He straightens up and really looks at her, eyes raking over her so hot that Grace feels a physical reaction. The feeling reminds her forcibly of the day before, but she shakes it off.

“You never answered any of my questions yesterday.”

“Think you forgot to ask,” he says, grinning.

Grace smiles back. “Cocky bastard, aren’t you?” She turns to the other one. “What about you, big guy? ‘Samuel’, is it? You know anything about a murder a couple of days ago? Heart ripped out of a guy’s chest right in the middle of Pleasantville?”

Big Dude studies her solemnly for a few seconds, then says, “You can relax. Your killer’s dead.” He pauses. “And the name’s Sam.”

That brings her up short. She really needs to get these guys talking under oath, but she’s not kidding herself that that’s going to happen. They’ve already shown a marked preference for flying under the radar. Grace is good and she’s armed, of course, but she doubts she’s got any chance of taking either of these guys in by force. Talking has worked okay so far, so she tries some more of it.

“Okay, Sam,” Grace says carefully, trying to make an encouraging face, half wondering if the guy is crazy, just blurting out information like that, talking about a murder with as much emotion as he’d use to recite the breakfast menu specials.

“So, the killer’s dead—great news. You wanna tell me how you’re so sure about that?” Grace continues.

Sam glances at Dean, who shrugs.

“Your killer was a werewolf. Dean put him down this morning with two silver bullets to the heart,” Sam explains in a flat, almost-bored tone.

Dean frowns at Sam, offended. “Hey…I only needed one shot. The second was just insurance.”

“Sorry. ‘A _single_ silver bullet to the heart,’” Sam says, rolling his eyes and giving Dean a look that pretty clearly says, _are you satisfied?_ The smug look that comes over Dean’s face answers the question in the affirmative.

Grace watches their exchange with a confused frown, still hung up on the word “werewolf.” Dean notices it and raises his eyebrows at her.

“You okay?” he says, and his tone actually sounds sincere, but she’s pissed off all the same.

“You wanna play games with me, I can haul your pretty asses down to the station for a little game of ‘good cop, bad cop.’ And I’m totally the good cop,” Grace says, narrowing her eyes.

Dean cranes his neck around like he’s trying to see his own ass, then glances at Sam’s backside, raising his eyebrows. Grace doesn’t change expression and Dean sighs, going serious again, tired even.

“Come on, Detective. Is the idea of a werewolf really any harder to accept than angels? An angel named Earl?” Dean asks.

Grace thinks back to the savagery of the first killing, the way nothing seemed to add up—no leads, no motive—and she’s got to admit that it makes a certain kind of sense, if you don’t deny the basic premise, that being that werewolves actually exist in the first place. She studies their faces. Grace has broken down a lot of liars and questioned a lot of crazy people, and her gut is telling her these guys are neither.

Finally Grace closes her eyes and sits down hard on the nearest stool.

“I need a drink.”

**  
A couple of hours later, Dean slaps Sam on the shoulder and says they need to get an early start, asks if he’s ready to go. The three of them have been sitting in the corner of the bar working their way through war stories on both sides, and probably six or seven shots of tequila apiece. It turns out that Dean and Sam are brothers, as well as partners. It explains a lot, actually—the way they interact, giving each other a hard time, communicating without words the way she and Ham do. Grace can only imagine how much closer that bond would be if they’d grown up together, like her and Rhetta.

They walk outside together, Dean steadying Grace with a hand on her shoulder and Sam a couple of paces behind. Sam hasn’t said all that much during the whole evening now that Grace thinks about it, and _God_ , he moves so quietly it makes her a little uncomfortable having him behind her. He seems kind of tense and almost predatory, like he’s watching all the time, waiting for something to happen.

Grace isn’t all that drunk, not nearly as drunk as they probably think she is, a woman her size taking on that many shots. She’s had a lot of practice, after all, but Dean stops her from digging in her pocket for her keys with a hand curled around her wrist.

“Forget it. You’re not driving. What kind of asshole do you think I am?” Dean says. Then he catches sight of her car. “Is that a Porsche 911? Shit!”

Grace throws her head back and laughs. “That’s Connie.”

Dean’s eyebrows jack nearly to his hairline. “You named your car? Detective, will you marry me?”

“Sure, baby. Let’s go to Vegas,” Grace says, leaning in and laying her hand on his chest.

Sam snorts and Dean laughs.

“How about we take you home instead?”

Grace doesn't miss the “we” in that statement, but she’s not completely clear if he means they’re going to drop her off and leave—or if he really means “we.” As in _three_.

She glances at Sam and it’s too dark to really see his expression, but his body language doesn’t change. He’s still got that deceptively relaxed stance that hasn’t fooled Grace for a minute. He knows exactly what’s going on around him and he’s always positioned to cover Dean’s back no matter how they move.

Then her eye catches on the black Impala across the parking lot.

Grace smiles up at Dean, letting her voice drop lower. “I guess Connie won’t mind spending one more night in this parking lot. Take me for a ride in your badass car, stud.”

Dean grins.

“Let’s go,” he says, turning around. Grace slips up underneath his arm like she needs the support, but it’s more because he’s big and solid and warm and it just feels damned good. She slides her arm around his waist and he snakes a hand back and grabs the .45 out of the back of his jeans, transferring it to the front. Grace chuckles low and dirty.

“Now how do you know that’s the gun I was reachin' for, cowboy?”

A laugh rumbles up from his chest; she can feel it vibrate against her cheek.

“Be careful there, Detective. The other one doesn’t have a safety. It might go off,” Dean drawls.

“I know my way around a weapon,” Grace says. Dean makes a pleased humming sound and Sam rolls his eyes. They’re at the car now and Grace slides under the wheel and to the middle of the front seat.

Dean starts it up and the rumbling vibration, the solid feel of the big car under her, draw a pleased chuckle out of Grace. She wiggles against the seat as she settles in.

“Where to, Detective?” Dean says.

She directs Dean onto I-44, and they drive for a while. Dean’s giving her suspicious looks even before they pass the city limits sign, but that’s when he finally says something.

“We’re not anywhere near your place, are we?” Dean asks.

“Nope. Open her up, show me what this baby can do,” Grace says, grinning.

Dean shakes his head, chuckling, but he does it, bearing down hard enough on the accelerator that Grace’s head rolls back with the sudden change in momentum. She laughs full out. She looks at Dean and she can’t get over how gorgeous he is, especially right now. She’s seen him smile before, but not like this, so uncomplicatedly happy.

Grace looks at him for a minute, then turns and lunges across Sam, rolls down his window fast, then slides over and parks her ass in his lap. Sam grunts with the impact and raises his arms like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Grace ignores him and sticks her head out the window, bracing one foot against the floorboards and putting her face into the cool, damp wind like a happy dog. Sam hooks his arm around her waist like he’s afraid she’s going to fall out and she leans into it. Long ropes of her hair whip back, stinging her face and arms and probably Sam’s too. She gives a whooping yell and rides like that, laughing and screaming into the roaring wind until her eyes sting and water.

She pulls her head back into the car and flops down into Sam’s lap. Dean’s just shaking his head at her, small smirk on his face. Grace lets her head fall back against Sam’s chest and looks up at him as her laughter dies away and her breathing returns to normal. She’s got no trouble reading the look Sam turns on her this time, and if she had, the feel of his dick hardening against her ass would have made it perfectly clear.

She gives a tiny backward twist of her hips and feels more than hears the soft moan Sam makes, right before he leans down and starts kissing her. Dean’s gone quiet, and Grace knows he has to be seeing what they’re doing. Sam kisses differently from his brother, softer and deeper, but he's so good at it she really can’t care too much if Dean is uncomfortable with it. Grace is a little bit of an exhibitionist anyway and Sam seems pretty into it, either ignoring his brother’s presence or maybe even getting off on it a little, too—she doesn’t know him well enough to tell.

Grace reaches up and threads her fingers into Sam’s hair and _shit_ , there’s so goddamned much of it, silky and thick. It suddenly occurs to her just how many of the men she’s fucked have had military haircuts and she never knew what she was missing until now. She pulls it a little and Sam must be into that too, because he moans into her mouth and ramps it up, licking, sucking, breathing faster, pushing the hard line of his cock against her hip.

Sam pulls back and grips her shoulders, turns her to face the front of the car. He curls his neck and starts sucking open-mouthed kisses into her shoulder, up the side of her throat and over her jaw, getting sloppier and harder with it as he goes, warm breath gusting by her ear. Then he slides his right hand down her stomach, still mouthing at her neck, moving his hand painfully slowly on down to her crotch, rubbing her through her jeans. It’s too little, too gentle, and Grace gave up any shyness she might have ever had about this shit years ago, so she takes his hand in hers and makes him press harder, moaning open-mouthed and bucking her hips against the sweet burn.

Sam slips his hand from her grasp and fumbles with her belt buckle, unfastens and pulls her jeans open rougher than he’s done anything so far, then works his way down, sliding one finger up inside her and _oh fuck_ …that feels good. Grace opens her legs as far as she can with her jeans still wrapped around her hips and Sam swears right next to her ear.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so wet and hot… _Jesus_ ,” Sam whispers, fucking her with his fingers, still acting like he doesn’t even know or care that Dean’s _right there_.

Grace looks at Dean in the glow from the dashboard then, sees him swallow hard and shift in his seat. She rolls her head toward him and the motion makes him look at her, his eyes wide and dark, tongue swiping across his lower lip. He raises his arm to rest across the seat back.

Sam’s still got his face buried in Grace’s neck and his hand in her pants and it’s making it really hard to focus, but she keeps her eyes on Dean as he stretches his arm out and strokes his thumb across her cheek. Grace turns her head and sucks his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the sensitive pad, and Dean swears.

“ _Fuck_. That’s it; we’re going back to the motel,” Dean says hoarsely, pulling his hand away.

Grace throws her head back with a small cry as Sam tightens his left arm around her waist and works two fingers further inside her.

“Jesus, Sam…she’s gonna come before we get there,” Dean rasps.

Sam rumbles something, sounds like “Mmm…yeah” and bucks his hips up against her.

“You’d be amazed at how short my recovery time is,” Grace says, cutting off the sentence with a choked sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, as Sam slides his hand inside the neck of her shirt and rolls her nipple between his fingers.

“Maybe I wanna see,” Dean says, glancing over at them but keeping his hands white-knuckle tight on the wheel.

“Then you need to… _oh, shit_ …then you’d better drive faster,” Grace gasps.

Dean swings the Impala hard to the right, cutting off another car on his way to the exit ramp, just as Sam grinds the heel of his hand down hard, right where she needs it.

Grace arches and cries out and the other driver lays on his horn. Grace is pretty sure she’s louder.

**

Sam’s still kissing Grace down from it when they pull into the motel’s parking lot, popping the door handle without even taking his mouth away from hers. He’s getting messy and urgent with it and Grace is nearly ready to go again, herself…hell, yeah, she is…and Sam pulls her toward the room, but he stops moving halfway to the door and looks back at Dean.

Dean’s still sitting behind the wheel, and Grace isn’t sure what the hesitation is for, since he’s the one who drove them here. Then it hits her.

Grace thinks about what Earl would say, wonders briefly if he’d think fucking two brothers at the same time is a worse sin than screwing around with her married partner. She figures it’s not nearly as bad as screwing her married partner when she knows he wants a lot more than that from her. Then she decides she’s done worrying about Earl and Ham for tonight.

“Thought you were armed and dangerous,” she drawls jokingly, but she’s looking Dean in the eye, wants him to see she’s okay with this.

“You sure?” Dean asks, and Grace really can’t tell if the question is directed at her or at Sam, but Sam doesn’t say anything. This isn’t anywhere close to the way Grace was expecting this evening to go, but she’s really ready for this to happen now and she makes a come-on gesture with her head.

Sam must see Dean make the decision, because while Dean’s still reaching for his car door handle, Sam turns his back on him and makes it to the door of the room in about three steps, dragging Grace with him. He pushes it open without a key and pulls Grace inside. Dean’s right behind her, shoving the door closed as Sam pulls her in close. Dean crowds her from behind, pushing her hard against Sam and buries his face in her hair, starts mouthing at her neck, pulling her collar to the side to suck wet kisses across her shoulder, like he’s making up for lost time now that the formalities are over. It’s overwhelming, having them both on her like this, surrounded by the scent of male and sweat and soap, feel of hard muscle pressing in from both sides, the sound of Dean’s heavy breathing from behind her.

Dean hums next to her ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth, then pulls off. He reaches for the hem of her shirt and in about three seconds has her topless—the boy has some _skills_ —but Sam catches on when Dean’s about halfway done and pulls off her boots and jeans almost as quick. It’s weird to be completely naked when they’re both fully clothed. Grace is not enough of a liar to kid herself that it isn’t turning her on, but it’s still pretty intimidating.

Grace pulls her head back, pushes herself away from Sam’s chest just far enough to catch her breath and pants the words, grinning, “Left your door unlocked? You’re pretty trusting.”

“Some crazy bitch with a gun kicked it in yesterday. Hasn’t worked right since,” Dean murmurs into her hair.

“Mmm…bad girl. You gonna let her get away with that?” Grace says, leaning back against his chest and reaching up to pull his head down far enough to nuzzle his neck.

“Nope. Remember that gun I told you about?” Dean says, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples.

“Oh my God,” Sam grunts suddenly. “Are you two going to keep this up all night? Just shut up!” He reaches down to grip Grace’s thighs and pull her up his body, shifting until she wraps her arms and legs around him.

Grace makes a dirty half moan, half laugh as she grinds her hips against Sam. Sam lets go of one of her legs and uses his free hand to grab Dean’s shoulder and pull him into a kiss. Dean stiffens at first but then leans into it, his chest hot and heavy against Grace’s back and she’s watching them make out from inches away. It’s probably the hottest thing she’s ever seen.

Sam finally pulls back and grits, “Get your goddamned clothes off, Dean.”

There’s nothing playful in his tone; it’s clearly an order, and Dean follows it without question. Sam sets her down, and by the time she feels Dean’s naked warmth at her back, she and Sam have Sam’s clothes off, too.

And _God_ , it’s so much skin. Grace smoothes her hands over Sam’s solid chest, a little freaked out at how far she has to tip her head back to look up at him, hard muscle like two brick walls on either side of her, cocks moving and sliding hot against her. Sam presses Grace against him with one big hand on her ass and curls the other around Dean’s neck and they’re kissing again. After a minute or two of it Sam pulls back and leans down to kiss Grace on the mouth, getting wetter and harder with it as Dean reaches around Grace, slides one hand between her and Sam.

Grace wonders for a second how far they’re going to go, Sam and Dean. It’s not like Grace hasn’t ever been with two guys at once, but it’s definitely not a regular thing. Hard enough to find two males who’re willing to be naked in the same room with each other in these parts, much less to actually touch each other.

But Dean’s palm is against her stomach, so much pressure from both men that he can't help touching Sam too, and Dean doesn’t jerk away when Sam’s dick brushes against his hand. Grace is guessing they’ve been naked together before.

Sam starts walking all three of them back toward the bed, obviously running the show at this point, until the edge of the bed catches Dean across the back of his knees and he sits down hard. Sam sets Grace down on Dean’s lap and she melts back against him, hooking her legs around his, squirming and rubbing her ass against his hard length, beyond holding back. Dean’s running his hands over her, rolling her nipples, trailing a hand down to dip his fingers inside her, talking dirty in her ear, _fuck, so good…so wet_ , and she tips her head back against his neck, sucks at it hard until he groans and she pulls away.

“Fuck me now, Dean,” she whispers, licking at his ear.

“Oh hell, yes,” Dean groans, and lifts her up bodily, thighs high enough off his that he can slide into her. Sam is suddenly right there, kneeling in front of them like he’s worshipping at some profane altar and he reaches forward, guides Dean’s cock into her as Dean lowers her back down.

“Goddamn,” Grace sighs out as she sinks down onto him, feels the stretch of him hard and hot inside her. Dean groans softly as he slides in, holding there for a moment before he starts rocking his hips, soft grunts of effort next to Grace's ear driving her crazy. Dean can’t move much in this position, especially when Sam shoves their thighs further apart to make room for his shoulders, and Dean makes a frustrated noise. He hooks his arm under Grace’s thigh, lifting her a little so he can thrust better.

It works for a minute, but then Sam lowers his head between their legs and licks slow and hard down the center of her. It’s too much, Dean inside and Sam’s mouth hot on her skin, working her with his tongue, gradually speeding up then pulling back and starting over, ramping up the rhythm little by little until Grace is on the edge again, and _God bless_ the woman who taught Sam how to do this, because _Jesus_ , he’s good at it.

Dean’s rocking under her, trying to keep fucking her, but he loses his rhythm every time Sam’s tongue slips downward, fluttering against the spot where they’re joined. Grace can’t tell whether it’s her or Dean who’s shaking so hard, but she figures it doesn’t matter. She feels the hard burn that means she’s seconds away from coming and she grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and holds on, hearing the desperate, panting cries she’s making and not giving a shit as she tips over the edge and strains against Sam’s mouth, shocks of pleasure rolling through her body, tensing and squeezing around Dean inside her. She feels his cock lengthen and pulse as Dean groans and comes right after her, squeezing her arms hard enough to bruise.

Sam stills and waits for them both to finish, then stands up. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her. Grace meets his dark gaze and Sam takes it for the consent it is, lifts her off Dean’s lap and lays her down on the bed next to Dean.

Grace is aware of Dean collapsing back to lie flat on the bed, but most of her attention is on Sam, the hot predatory look in his eyes making her ache to feel him inside her. She wants to see if he fucks as hard and serious as he seems to do everything else.

She gets an answer to her question as he enters her and bottoms out, makes a rolling thrust of his hips that forces a moan out of her, then sets up a hard, quick rhythm and she can’t stop the incoherent sounds that start pouring out. Sam holds her against him with one arm under the small of her back so she can’t even move, can’t do anything but lie there and take what he gives her. It’s good— _so good_ —intense enough that her body gives another little spasmodic thrill and tightens hard around Sam’s cock. He groans loud and his thighs lock as he shakes and pants through his orgasm.

Grace couldn’t say whether Dean’s been watching them or not at this point, but he gets up from the bed as soon as they’re done and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him without a word. Sam takes a deep breath and eases out of her, lies there catching his breath for a minute before he sits up on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under him and the other on the floor. He sighs heavily and rubs his face with both hands before dropping them to rest across his thighs.

Grace is completely drained, could care less if she ever moves again, but she watches Sam stare at the closed bathroom door like he can see through it, maybe burn a hole in it with the force of his gaze.

“He okay?” Grace asks after a minute.

Sam glances at her, face twitching into a pained grimace, and the aggression from earlier is gone; suddenly he seems young and uncertain.

“It’s just…,” Sam pauses and sighs. “It’s been a long time. He’ll be all right.” Grace thinks he sounds more hopeful than convinced.

There’s a sound of running water from the bathroom and Sam looks back toward the door, but Grace can still see the look in his eyes and it’s not pretty. She’s been around too many survivors not to recognize that look: profound loss, all wrapped up together with tearing, soul-deep guilt. Hell, she ought to know—she’s seen it in the mirror often enough.

Sam seems to notice her looking then and gives a little start. He gets up and starts pulling on clothes.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

**

Sam doesn’t say much until they’re back on the interstate, and when he does, it’s nothing Grace expects.

“Detective Hanadarko…”

“It’s Grace,” she says.

“What?” Sam asks, turning a confused frown on her.

“Grace…that’s my name.”

Sam laughs in a short, sharp exhale.

“Of course it is,” he says, nodding slightly.

Grace isn’t sure she wants to know why he finds her first name so ironic, even if he isn’t the first person to see it that way.

Sam clears his throat.

“So…I just wanted to, um…to thank you for tonight.”

Grace chuckles. “Two hundred bucks an hour. I’ll bill you.”

Sam looks sheepish.

“No, I mean…it’s Dean. He’s had a hard time and I think I saw him laugh more tonight than he has since…for a long time. So I, er...appreciate it.”

“Oh, well, laughter is always on the house,” Grace says, smiling.

The drone of the engine fills the silence for the next few minutes, then Sam gives her a sideways glance.

“Grace, do you believe in God?” Sam asks.

Grace looks down at her lap, huffs a laugh through her nose.

“I believe He’s a sadistic prick with a twisted sense of humor. Does that count?”

Sam laughs again.

“I think you’re probably not wrong about that.”

Grace tilts her head in acknowledgment.

“But you know, I’ve seen a real angel, so I guess God’s gotta be real, too, right?”

Sam snorts. “Angels, yeah. They’re fucking rays of sunshine, huh?”

He pauses and then shakes his head like he’s negating his statement. “But they saved Dean when I couldn’t…” Sam says, almost like he’s talking to himself.

“And now they want him to pay back the debt?” Grace asks.

Sam looks at her sharply, then shakes his head.

“That’s what they say, but Dean’s not…it’s too much.”

“You don’t think he can do what they want?”

Sam shakes his head. “It’s just…he’s always gotta be such a goddamned hero, you know?”

Grace exhales a bitter little laugh.

“’Hero.’ That word gets thrown around a lot,” Grace says. “Personally I think ‘heroic’ is just putting one foot in front of the other. Getting back up when you get knocked down.”

“Or we’re just screwed no matter what we do,” Sam says sourly.

Grace shrugs.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we should bend over and spread ‘em. Why make it easy for the bad guys to win?”

“I’m starting to see why my brother likes you,” Sam says, glancing at her with a sad smile.

They’re pulling into the parking lot now and Sam parks next to Grace’s car. She gets out, but instead of getting into her car, she walks around to Sam’s window. As he looks up at her inquiringly, the wind ruffles his bangs and the “little boy lost” look is back on his face.

Grace pushes the loose strands of hair back out of his eyes.

“Don’t stop fighting, okay Sam?” she says.

Sam closes his eyes briefly, but he nods. Grace turns away, but Sam reaches out and takes her wrist to stop her and she turns back.

“Grace…things are probably going to get worse, okay? Just…watch your back,” Sam says.

Grace studies his face for a minute and the boyish look is gone, a crease of worry already settling in between his brows.

“You, too,” Grace says, leaning in and kissing his temple softly. Sam looks a little uncomfortable at that and Grace turns and walks away, knowing he won’t leave until she’s safely inside her car.

She doesn’t look back.


End file.
